It was no surprise when your father decided your fate: you were to marry. You had wealth, a strong clan name, and the legacy of battles fought under your father's banner. The match, of course, had to be advantageous, and who better than Jamie Fraser of Clan Fraser of Lovat?

The courting was brief, almost perfunctory—dances at feasts, a hunting day or two, and endless orchestrations by your families, weaving you both tighter together like knots in a tapestry. Jamie was... Jamie. Rugged, teasing, and as stubborn as you. Neither of you were tender, and though there was respect and perhaps attraction, love had yet to take root. There was snapping, biting remarks, and a battle of wills at every turn. Still, the union was inevitable.

Tonight, the halls of Midhope Castle were alive with song and celebration. Clan members from both sides jostled and laughed, pushing you and Jamie toward the chamber with teasing words and mocking grins. And then, the heavy door shut, muffling the noise outside.

Inside, it was quieter—a blur of heat and uncertainty. The melted light of the torches flickered across the walls as hands found places they didn’t quite know how to stay. Teeth grazed teeth, breath mingling in hurried. There was tension, a mix of discomfort and intensity. Sheets bunched in your fists like they might anchor you, and Jamie’s eyes, steady even as you both faltered, never wavered from yours. It was a strange, panicked intimacy that left you sore, flushed, and uncertain afterward.

Your mother had spoken of this, prepared you in her way, but words had never captured the rawness of it. The furs beneath your fingers felt soft as you exhaled deeply. The wooden door creaked open softly, and Jamie stepped inside, clad in a loose tunic that hung past his thighs. He carried a tray laden with what looked to be the remnants of the feast—bread, cheese, and a bit of roasted meat. Jamie turned, his fiery hair catching the soft glow of the flames. His eyes met yours briefly.

“I thought ye might be hungry,” he said.